Heartened by Wonder Woman—The Case for Sincere Storytelling

As I write this, I’m fresh off of a second viewing of Wonder Woman. The movie has remained on my mind quite a bit. Even I’m surprised by how much, and I write epics that feature Amazon-like warrior women.

I’ve written before about how Wonder Woman’s origin story is a block in the foundation of my storytelling, so it’s probably no surprise I went to see the film on opening day, or that I took my wife so I could see it again. A lot of reviews have spoken to the novelty, and even the awe felt, in seeing an entire host of skilled warrior women riding into combat and kicking ass. But I’ve spent the last decade or so vividly imaging just that.

So it isn’t just the presence of warrior women that has left me thinking about a blockbuster superhero movie (a story venue that rarely leaves me thinking beyond the drive home from the theater). It’s more about the S-word.

It’s the S-Word, Not the F-Word

Wonder Woman has gotten a lot of buzz for a superhero movie, even in the mainstream media. A lot of the talk has centered on the f-word… feminism. And I know for many woman and girls, seeing a movie of this type that features a woman is a powerful thing. I also know that, for some, WW is a slap to feminism—a side-step rather than a step forward. I’m sure that debate will not end soon.

But Wonder Woman’s gender is not what I want to address here (though I suspect it may have been an influence on what I will address). As I said, what made the experience powerful for me has more to do with the s-word… sincerity.

“I’m tired of sincerity being something we have to be afraid of doing. It’s been like that for 20 years, that the entertainment and art world has shied from sincerity, real sincerity, because we feel like we have to wink at the audience because it’s what kids like. We have to do real stories now. The world is in crisis.”—Patty Jenkins (director of Wonder Woman)

For me it was just so refreshing, and ultimately inspiring, to see a blockbuster so unafraid of embracing a belief in a “greater good.” Princess Diana of Themyscria is earnestly portrayed as a hero with innate goodness, one who is powerfully motivated by the desire to save mankind. Plus the story doesn’t shy from romantic impulses such as the innocence of youth, the corrupting influence of industrialization, and the power of love. In other words, it’s brimming with good old-fashioned sincerity.

I’ve been pretty dissatisfied by the superhero genre for some time, but I hadn’t fully appreciated why. There have been enjoyable exceptions, but even those seem to have become cynical. Awesome action sequences are fine, but I really don’t need another detached, sarcastic protagonist. And what’s with all of the infighting—superheroes pitted against one another? I guess it’s sort of cool to find out if Captain America can punch his way past Iron Man, or if there’s a circumstance where Batman can pick a fair fight with Superman. But it seems like there’s been an emphasis on how flawed heroes can be, and how convoluted their motivations can become.

And this isn’t just a blockbuster movie phenomenon. A large swath of popular storytelling seems determined to let us know that having hope is for suckers. Heck, over in Westeros any character that dares to speak of hope ends up either dead or tortured/maimed/imprisoned. But most often dead.

Much of my genre (historical fantasy) seems determined to tell us that history was even shittier than we’ve dared imagine, and that the only reason we’ve never noticed is because it’s written by the victors—who were likely to have been shitty people. The genre is rife with “heroes” who are assassins/warriors/soldiers who are coldly resigned to behave horribly, if only because allowing the antagonist to prevail would be even more horrible.

Who can save us when we’re not even sure what we’re being saved from, or for what real reason? Not to mention the cost. How many wars can be fought in the name of the personal ambitions of flawed characters? How many Metropolises can be leveled before we decide it’s just not worth being saved anymore? How much bloodletting will we consume only to find out that it was for nothing more than twisted motives? Dark questions indeed. Pretty cool, eh?

Maybe I’m just a bit more sentimental than most genre fans. After all, these movies, series, and books seem to sell well. And who can argue with the market?

Well, maybe that’s why I’m heartened by Wonder Woman.

Against Dark Odds, Striving for the Light

“I wanted to tell a story about a hero who believes in love, who is filled with love, who believes in the betterment of mankind. Because I believe in it. It’s terrible that so many artists are afraid to be sincere, truthful, and emotional. It relegates them to the too-cool-for-school department. Art is supposed to bring joy and beauty to the world.”—Patty Jenkins

“Sincerity in art is not an affair of will, of a moral choice between honesty and dishonesty. It is mainly an affair of talent. A man may desire with all his soul to write a sincere, a genuine book and yet lack the talent to do it. In spite of his sincere intentions, the book turns out to be unreal, false, and conventional; the emotions are stagily expressed, the tragedies are pretentious and lying shams and what was meant to be dramatic is badly melodramatic.”—Aldous Huxley

I fully appreciate both Jenkins’ and Huxley’s sentiments. And Lord knows I’ve been guilty of melodramatic storytelling. One of my earliest beta-readers even used the word twee. I’ve spent years striving to achieve honest emotional impact absent of sentimentalism. And yet I know my work will always lack emotional impact for some, or will even seem downright cheesy.

I don’t want to offer any spoilers (so if you haven’t seen WW and are planning to, you might want to skip ahead to the next section), but there’s a significant moment during the third act of Wonder Woman, and it seems not everyone appreciates, or even catches it. Critics who miss it seem to dwell on the over-the-top aspects of the climatic scenes.

In the moment, Diana, all but overcome by her nemesis, is made to realize the premise of her mission—indeed, her entire outlook—is flawed. Which causes her to grasp a horrible truth: that there really is ugliness and hate in the world—that the darkness within mankind is real, not just something that’s been foisted upon us. But the power of the moment comes in what she does next. She decides to believe anyway. And to keep striving.

I don’t mind darkness in stories, as long as it’s due to an unwanted absence of light.

Cheesy and Proud of It

“I used to want to save the world, to end war and bring peace to mankind. But then I glimpsed the darkness that lives in their light. And I learned that inside every one of them there will always be both; a choice each must make for themselves. It’s something no hero will ever defeat. And now I know, that only love can truly save the world. So I stay, and I fight, and I give, for the world I know can be.”—Diana Prince, aka Princess of Themyscria, aka Wonder Woman

I suppose there’s a case to be made for dark, and even cynical, storytelling. Don’t such stories save us from naiveté? Why should we ever trust anyone—individual, group, or institution—to save us? Doesn’t cynicism insulate us from unavoidable pain and our inevitable fate, and allow us to laugh at life’s absurdities? I suppose.

I suppose there are always choices to be made, even in the speculative genre. We all seek and find the types of stories that not only suit our sensibilities, but fill some inner need.

Wonder Woman is not for everyone. I’ve witnessed its bashing, in the media and online.

And yet I was struck, sitting in that dark theater, my heart brimming as Wonder Woman earnestly strives against such dark odds. I’ve realized something in the harsh criticism and in the glowing praise; in the articles and tweets admitting to cathartic tears shed over a superhero movie; in the scores of pictures of little girls dressed as the hero they’d never before seen in a movie devoted to her.

I’ve realized that I crave stories that embody hope, that I want to create stories with characters who sincerely believe that love can save their world from darkness.

And as I watched this movie crunch the competition for two straight weeks at the box office, I’ve realized I’m not alone. I understand, more clearly than ever, that my stories are not for everyone, and that’s okay. One reader’s sincerity is another reader’s cheese.

Cheesy or not, I’m more interested in striving for sincerity in my storytelling than ever. And I have Wonder Woman to thank.

Do you strive for sincerity in your writing? Or are you allergic to cheese? Can you make a more compelling case for darkness or cynicism in stories? Or do you think they can coexist?

In the sixth grade, Vaughn’s teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days polishing his epic fantasy trilogy.

Comments

Vaughn, I know the scene you’re referring to when Diana has that shocking realization that turns her world on its head and in fact that was my favorite moment in the movie. Like you, I prefer sincerity over mob mentality cynicism. We might not gain popularity (at least not in the current market) but as Dave Corbett pointed out in his previous post, Moby Dick was a flop in its day. In this age of cynicism, there must be those of us who channel the light back into fiction, and what more fitting a theme than the light amid darkness. This summarizes the very heart of Tolkien, and just as Tolkien was reacting in large part to the negative currents of industrialization in his day, with a call back to the eternal glory of nature and the divinity within, so too can we do likewise to counter the current of instant gratification culture and the inevitable pessimism that pervades those who are grounded in it. Hope, love, light, divine purose — ah, that was the very thing that sang in my soul throughout the Wonder Woman movie. Perhaps, for us, it might be seen as a battle call.

You draw a wonderful parallel with Tolkien in his time, John. Ah, and I love the idea of looking at it as a battle call. Onward, sincere storytellers! (Especially in the fantasy genre.) Great comment. Thanks much!

I took my 17 year old daughter to see the movie and we both loved it. Little Diana charmed the heck out of me (as the mother of three very tough girls) and though I see the cheesiness of the message (love will conquer all), what a fine message for anyone to hear.

Sincerity doesn’t have to be cheesy. Nor do I feel this is an either/or question. There’s room for cynicism, there’s room for sincerity. I think we move back and forth in terms of what we want from our stories. After a steady diet of goody-two shoes superheroes (think Adam West Batman, Christopher Reeve Superman, and non-superheroes like Captains Kirk and Picard) we needed people who were not total paragons of virtue. Characters with flaws are more like us, and maybe that’s what we wanted to see. Will it swing back at some point where we have ‘good guys’ who are all good? Maybe. In terms of my own writing, I think my protagonists, flawed as they are, are ultimately trying to do good in the world, or at least in their own little corners of it. It’s not easy, but they tend to prevail. Does that make me ‘sincere’?

Sorry, Jeffo, seems your comment got swallowed by the internet, only to pop back out today. But I wanted to recognize your astute observations here. Thanks for illuminating the dark corners. You seem sincere to me. :)

Yes, and thank you! I haven’t seen it yet. (Thank you for the spoiler alert.) I think scores of others have had the same reaction and that’s why it’s been so popular. We want our heroes to be good and full of hope. It’s the hero’s journey that has lasted through millennia. I think it works because that’s how we’re programmed. Whether that desire is innate or programmed by society…I think it’s innate. We want things to make sense, and be fair. We want good to triumph and we want the strong hero to save innocents.

Good point about the hero’s journey, Val. And I’m with you – I think human beings have an innate inclination toward fairness and goodness. It’s a world-view that doesn’t seem widely shared anymore. I think you’ll love the movie, but please let me know. Thanks for weighing in!

Can you believe we’re at that point, where sincerity and hope are the odd choices? Well, lets embrace our cheesiness because I’m right there with you, Vaughn!

All through the movie, I kept looking for the Power of the Feminine (I’m kinda going nuts over all things feminism/enfranchisement-related, recherche oblige), then realized I was expecting another fierce, kill-all-the-meanies supposed-hero. But WW was compassionate, curious, good. Just like the “real” Superman of my childhood (what’up, Christopher Reeve), who would’ve NEVER crashed through buildings or risked lives chasing anyone, villain or fallen hero, because he deeply cared for humans. Bryan Singer’s sequel was perfect in that (ooh that airplane scene, and the climax, when Superman rids earth of that huge kryptonite island. And Kevin Spacey is a genius Lex Luthor! Sorry, I digress). But then darkness was unleashed in the world of superheroes, all hope and goodness was lost for the sake of KA-POW! and CGI, and I just stopped watching.

I want my protagonist to be just that, hope. Hope for tolerance, acceptance, seeing the differences but seeking a balance, too. Hope that men and women can complement each other, because we’re the two sides of the same coin, really. When she’s a control freak, he’s more easy-going, he tempers her. When he’s lashing out, getting angry at the smallest thing, she helps him dig deeper, see what’s hurting inside. Stereotypical? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just human nature. Humankind.

Anyway, your post is incredibly inspiring, it’s going in a special folder of my most favoritest WU articles. We’ll keep rooting for the good guys and gals! Thank you again!

Wow, great comment, Veronic. Couple things: first, did you know that Patty Jenkins was inspired by Superman 1 to become a director in the first place? And that she put in a scene that is a direct homage to Superman in WW? Second, there’s a great article in the NYT about Chris Pine’s portrayal of Steve Trevor. They say his deft handling of the situations, his ability to step aside as well as be a compliment, make WW as important for little boys as it is for little girls. Google both of those, if you’re interested. Jenkins has spoken publicly about Superman a couple of times.

I’m so glad that the post resonated for you, and I’m honored by your kind words. Here’s to sincere storytelling. Thank you! Onward!

I just looked it all up: the bullet scene, of course! I’m not as die-hard a fan as my man is, he probably would’ve picked it up in an instant. But I noticed the way WW seems as puzzled, if not clueless, with “our” world as Clark Kent likes to pretend he is in the original trilogy AND Superman Returns.

Reading that NYT piece made me realize the metaphor behind the scene where the boys crouch under that huge piece of metal to help Wonder Woman propel herself up to that church bell tower. Just saw it as a cool reference to the epic battle scene from the beginning. Thing is, Capt Trevor actually gets the guys together to *lift her up*. Awesomeness in a paragraph.

It’s a great scene, but I didn’t notice the homage until I read about it, either. Made me love it more.

Love this from Anna North’s piece: “Misogynists have long accused feminists of hating men or masculinity, but Captain Trevor is a reminder that masculinity itself isn’t the problem. A swashbuckling spy who amusingly claims his physique is “above average,” he remains masculine throughout the movie in a fairly traditional sense — his masculinity just allows for supporting a powerful (O.K., superpowerful) woman, rather than undercutting or resenting her.”

When did our times slip from existential detachment to ironic disgust?

Was it Vietnam, Watergate and the advent of Saturday Night Live? Was it even earlier when an artist from Pittsburg dared to say that pictures of soup cans aren’t art?

Was it in the atomic era, when we black listed ourselves into conformity and cowardice? Was it back when boozy gumshoes caught killers while corruption never stopped? Was it a century ago when the “war to end all wars” killed millions for no lasting benefit?

Have we recently crossed a divide, reached a point of no return? A time when the doublethink of 1984 is not fiction but reality, when facts are nothing more than what you choose to believe?

Our culture has for many years embraced cynicism. Nothing to count on. But while culture reflects our collective mood, I believe that underneath we have not lost faith in a greater good.

When millions of people go to church on Sunday, when we pack our kids lunchboxes for school, when communities welcome the displaced, when a dozen die but thousands lay down flowers and march in solidarity, I cannot believe that we truly have become a cynical species.

If Wonder Woman has stirred hearts and inspired girls, it is not due to the arrival of a new optimism but an awakening of a goodness and hope that never left us.

Amen! Sorry, Benjamin, but your lovely comment somehow got swallowed into the ether, only to be spat back out into the conversation thread today. It’s indisputably wise no matter its time of arrival.

Seems these days it’s easy to lose sight of the beauty all around us. But it’s still there. Take yesterday. Each year we sponsor a hot-air balloon ride in an auction for charity. Yesterday happened to be a gorgeous blue-skied solstice day. Our involvement includes helping to unload, launch, car-chase, and pack up. At every step of the process – wide-eyed kids (and adults) running out to watch it inflate, people stopping to stare up as it took off and floated along the mighty St. Joseph River, folks running to help, even when we’ve landed on their property, taking out a swath of new corn – I saw the joy and goodness shining through. We met and spoke to folks from the city (passengers and pilot), from the suburban neighborhood we launched from, and rural farmers at the landing site. And the reactions were the same: big smiles. And for something that’s just a bit out of the ordinary.

That big ole balloon is a thing of beauty, bringing happiness not just to the passengers but everyone that sees it. It was a small reminder of what you’re saying, but one that also heartened me.

I loved this post so much! Thank you for helping me understand why I so loved Wonder Woman. I also saw it twice, and will probably see it a third time. Yes, the sincerity was a huge draw for me. It’s something I strive for indeed. I’ve seen enough books where the mindset is everything-needs-to-be-dark-because-I-don’t-think-anything-will-ever-change.

I’m old enough to remember when the code in Hollywood required good to triumph and evil to be punished. That requirement eventually produced movies that were trite and simplistic. Sophisticated viewers and readers deplored the lack of nuance and gravitated to darker stories they saw as more realistic.

Maybe the real issue though, isn’t the ending of the tale so much as it is the execution of the telling. The commercial chasing of the perceived public taste produces a lot of junk.

I’m glad the pendulum is swinging back. I don’t go to many movies anymore but your post encourages me to see this one.

Vaughn–Thanks for this post. You are talking about something others at WU have taken up: the tension between creating emotional catharsis for readers without sacrificing rational understanding. That is, achieving works that are sincerely heartfelt and moving, but that don’t ignore reason and knowledge.

But what sticks with me most from your post are some well-chosen words you quote from Aldus Huxley: “Sincerity in art is not an affair of will, of a moral choice between honesty and dishonesty. It is mainly an affair of talent. A man may desire with all his soul to write a sincere, a genuine book and yet lack the talent to do it.”

I think Huxley is here stating a stark but un-ignorable truth. Craft can be taught, technique and strategy can be mastered in the service of talent. But talent itself can’t be taught.

At the end of your post, you pose some questions, the first of which is this: “Do you strive for sincerity in your writing?” To me, the question expresses a yearning, a hope that sincerity can be achieved by what Huxley calls “an affair of will.” But I don’t think it can be. Because to be sincere, either in what we write or in our relations with other people can’t be willed into existence. Thanks again. Your post applies to us all.

Hey Barry – Yeah, the Huxley quote made me think about the talent debate. And I suppose I sort of side-step the issue in the essay. Perhaps talent can’t be taught, and maybe my yearning will be in vain. Maybe it’s why my attempts at sincerity have yet to sell. I suppose my cheesy hopefulness will have to carry me on, because I don’t see myself changing to suit the market. Nor do I see myself giving up.

In any case, I’m glad to find some graceful execution of sincere storytelling (by talented storytellers) hitting the marketplace, for my own personal consumption as well as the inspiration to fuel my yearning. Thanks for contributing to the conversation, and for your kind words.

Vaughn–There’s never anything “cheesy” about hope. If money is the mother’s milk of politics, hope serves as mother’s milk for writers. We all hope to be read and understood. No hope, no writing. Simple as that.

Sincerity may be the thing most missing in our current culture (with kindness as a close second), so I’ll take all I can get. And yes, I do strive for it in my writing. If I slip over the line into cheesy once in a while, so be it. I’ll keep working at getting to the real thing. And I’m going to break my theatre boycott and go see the movie! I, too, loved what John said about Tolkien. We seem to be in a similar dark time to the one that influenced so much of his writing. But light shines the brightest in the dark. We all need one of Galadriel’s little lamps. But maybe that’s where we storytellers come in. My friend Noelani always remind me to ‘be the light’. Thank you, Vaughn, for a marvelous (no pun) post.

Love your observation about kindness being a close second, Susan – I agree! Better to err to cheesy than to submit to cynicism, right?

“But light shines the brightest in the dark.” < --That's such a gem. And I just made a post-it for the bulletin board in my office with Noelani's "Be the light." Thanks for such great additions to the conversation today, my friend!

Vaughn, if you brought any cheese into the room, it’s the freshest stuff possible, with no artificial ingredients—add some wine and we’ll call it heart-healthy, like your post.

Many of the novels I love have characters, flawed all, of sincerity and heart, like those from Marilynne Robinson and Kent Haruf. (Though that doesn’t stop me from grinning at Oscar Wilde’s arch ways.) There’s no saccharine in Robinson’s or Haruf’s works, just real folks flailing on the path—and the path is sometimes closed—to redemption.

I was a big comic books geek as a kid, loving Spider Man and Thor, but Wonder Woman as well, and Susan Storm, one of the foursome of the Fantastic Four. You might have to use a microscope to find any foundations of feminism in those depictions, but as a kid, I was caught up in the story, and it never occurred to me that a woman couldn’t be a figure of strength and character.

Great point about how much better the sincerity comes off in a flawed character, Tom. I actually enjoy a bit of grittiness in my stories. I just don’t want characters who wallow in it and never seem to want to get clean. And I suppose we’ve got to keep the early versions of Diana and Susan S., et al, in the context of their times – as well as to be grateful for the progress found, no matter how slow.

You tell ‘um. Vaughn, you tell ‘um! Too long I’ve felt like I’ve been swimming upstream while most others floated downstream trying to wreck each other’s rafts. The hope we strive for is the hope we make and I can think of no better place for it to begin than with storytelling.

There’s a recurrent discussion theme of superhero movies being cynical, of which the current DCEU movies have become the most obvious examples. These are some of my favorite superhero movies and respectfully, I’d like to make a case for them.

First, I’d like to say that I found Wonder Woman to be very enjoyable. And from the perspective of the global feeling of empowerment it has generated in women across the world, it was a great accomplishment.

That said, as a work of art, I fear it steered towards a bad place, which is common in the Marvel Universe, and less so in the DC world.

Some background: I am a filmmaker. And several years ago I stumbled upon a truly haunting revelation. I had written a short action comedy and while in the process of shooting some of its action scenes, I realized something that seems obvious now, but that at the time had never occurred to me.

Most action scenes require an unrealistic, hypocritical approach which serves to hide the scene’s truth in order to not appear horrifying.

The gun scenes I was having my characters banter through while looking heroic, would’ve left a terrible mess of viscera and destruction in their wake that only truly deranged and violent people could cause with a smile on their faces.

And it felt irresponsible to portray them as fun and exciting.

Likewise, most of the “cool action scenes” in the Avengers would be terrifying, life altering ordeals for innocent bystanders. And I’ve been very keen on noticing how many people die unceremoniously (often off camera) in these films. Marvel is by far the worst offender (with the surprising exception of Dr. Strange, which actually manages to have the lead character acknowledge this problem and work to find an alternative to it).

Wonder Woman, however, suffers from this irresponsible violence problem too, only it’s exacerbated, at least to me, by the hero’s unrelenting, cheery hopefulness.

SOME SPOILERS AHEAD

______________

How many people die during the No Man’s Land scene? The truth is, no one knows. The director chose not to address this. But if you understand what just happened, then you know Diana just killed a whole lot of the same people that she is trying to free from what she thinks is Ares’s evil doing. These people, so far as she is concerned, are blameless victims of the gods and she just proceeded to disembowel them in a fun-for-the-whole-family, exciting way that even had me feeling a little empowered. Then, before the blood that should’ve been all over her sword (but wasn’t) had time to dry, she goes on to tell everyone that she believes in the power of love.

The movie is put together to make the audience feel the innocent warmth of the hero’s loving optimism. But should we feel empowered by the savagery of war? Should we sanitize it so that children can enjoy these characters as role models? Should we conflate this “cool, offscreen violence” and the sense of innocent hope that Patty Jenkins bestowed upon her lead?

I don’t think so. Mass murder should never lead to innocent, hopeful optimism.

At this point, I’d like to reiterate that this problem is endemic in superhero films (and more broadly, in action films in general). It’s not a Wonder Woman problem. But it is a problem that I felt was addressed by the gravity of the previous installments in the DC franchise where Batman is unhinged and people bleed and die onscreen. But it was pushed aside because it made people uncomfortable. The internet is full of people who found the grim and violent DC movies difficult to watch. But movies based on the premise of violence as entertainment should really be hard to watch. They should make us cringe and question the characters.

Regardless of the optimism on display in Wonder Woman, this film is very much another installment of “happy violence as entertainment”.

————————– DONE WITH SPOILERS

This is why I like the darker tone. Because it doesn’t shy away from the inherent violence that exists in the “heroes” we are exposed to. With a few exceptions, (Dr. Who, BBC’s Sherlock, and Dr. Strange come to mind) these days most heroes, from James Bond to Katniss Everdeen to Captain America to Wonder Woman, solve problems by punching, kicking, shooting or stabbing things (if possible, while a city collapses behind them). And if that is what we are portraying as a role model, we should at least be honest about what that actually looks like.

A note on sincerity:

Sincerity – the quality of being free from pretense, deceit, or hypocrisy.

I disagree with Patty Jenkins’s assessment on the subject. The difference between pessimism and optimism is not sincerity. You can absolutely be sincerely cynical or pessimistic.

What I believe she’s saying is that films shy from being unabashedly optimistic. That we we lack the ability to present characters as vulnerable and goofy and pure. This is also untrue. Captain America and Spider Man, for instance, are characters that have unabashedly embraced their positivism and they are some of the biggest names in the game. (Steve Rogers’s eagerness to enlist and save the world from Nazis though he was a scrawny do-gooder who couldn’t fight is still a fond and endearing memory to me, but again problematic for all the same reasons I stated above).

Sincerity, to me, implies a rawness. A tangible truth. This can certainly refer to unabashed hopefulness and positivism, but doesn’t have to. There is beauty in almost everything if one is looking. It’s also not an all encompassing concept. Wonder Woman is very sincere about hope and optimism. But not very sincere about the realities of war. Or violence in general.

Ultimately, Wonder Woman is an enjoyable movie. Much the same way the Spider Man and Captain America movies were, but problematic in a common way which I believe we don’t address nearly enough.

Wow, Omar, you certainly make an interesting, as well as a pretty convincing case. And you do it not only thoroughly but engagingly. I suspected some would make a case for darkness in storytelling here in the comments, but your point about rawness being implied in sincerity hadn’t occurred to me. And I do see your point. I think your point lends itself to the Huxley quote – as in, this is where even the most well-intended sincerity can ring hollow or false. And I’m all for multi-dimensional and interesting characters – I didn’t mean for the essay to imply otherwise.

Thank you for making such a well-crafted argument. And for bringing the realities of war and violence into the discussion. Great to get a filmmaker’s perspective. You’ve given me a lot to think about.

There’s an old line about Hollywood: “Once you learn how to fake sincerity, you’ve got it made in this town.”

And that’s the problem with “sincerity.” It’s so often dishonest.

Dishonest sincerity believes that simply by focusing on hope and decency and human goodness we somehow achieve something. It would be great if all we had to do was close our eyes, click our heels together, and repeat, “There’s no place like home,” to make the world a better place. But that’s a lie. And it’s not cynical to admit as much.

The common conviction of cynicism is that hope and a belief in human goodness are things only children embrace. Experience quickly grinds them away. But that’s as phony as the childishness it seeks to dismiss.

Cynicism and sentimentality are two sides of the same coin–a dishonest insistence on one way of viewing the world, usually premised on a fear of ambiguity. To live one’s life honestly is to learn how to navigate ambiguity. That does not require abandoning hope or virtue. It requires developing judgment.

Real warriors often discard the great verities once they taste combat, because the sheer horror of it makes idealism seem hopelessly inadequate to the situations they face. They realize survival often requires a mindset that they previously would have considered hateful, vicious, cruel — something that makes “coming home” so problematic for them. They often also realize that they aren’t fighting for ideals, but for the men in their unit. The virtues they discover — courage, perseverance, honor, loyalty, and yes, love — are tempered by the horror they have witnessed. The impact and recognition of those horrors do not make the courage, love, etc., any less sincere.

I think what we want is truth. And by seeking in WW or any other story an honest recognition that human decency and kindness and a belief in an inherent goodness in people are not phony or childish, we are asking that these things not be dismissed as dishonestly sentimental by an equally dishonest cynicism. But that requires understanding why decency and kindness and goodness are not universal, and often do seem the exception, and handling that as truthfully as we know how.

I would disagree here with Aldous Huxley. I don’t think talent is necessary as much as honesty. Talented people are not immune from dishonest writing. But honesty is wrapped up in courage and understanding of our fellow humans, without illusions even nobly inspired. It requires balancing the bad we know to exist with good we also know to exist. It requires judgment.

That said, I also recall Kafka’s opening words to his story, “The Silence of the Sirens:” Proof that inadequate, even childish measures may serve to rescue one from peril.

Sometime belief in the absurd, fanciful, or “sincere” can get us through. But that doesn’t negate the peril that needed to be gotten though in the first place.

I would therefore argue against “sincerity” (note ironic quotation marks) and especially against cheese. But that’s precisely because I cherish truth and honesty so deeply.

I’m going to end with another quote, this one from Anna Akhmatova, her poem, “Why Then Do We Not Despair?”

Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold, Death’s great black wing scrapes the air, Misery gnaws to the bone. Why then do we not despair?

By day, from the surrounding woods, cherries blow summer into town; at night the deep transparent skies glitter with new galaxies.

And the miraculous comes so close to the ruined, dirty houses — something not known to anyone at all, but wild in our breast for centuries.

Hey David – You make a great case for honesty as an essential element to this discussion. As well as the need for the development of judgement. As you know, I’m a huge Tolkien fan. And, in part, one of the things that drew me to take up the pen was a desire to trace the origins of the tropes of the genre that Tolkien remade. That pursuit led me to Goths and Romans. My pursuit of trope origins led me to the conclusion that, when it came to the fall of empire, and who was at fault, there was plenty of blame to go around. Which led me to realize that one of the few things I disliked about Tolkien’s world was the simplistic portrayal of good and evil. And I think your point about honest and navigating ambiguity are at the crux of the more realistic picture of an epic age that I seek to capture in my work.

Having said all of that, I think one of the things that got me about Wonder Woman is offered in the twinning of opening/epilogue (set in present day). There’s a sense of sorrow in the delivery of Diana’s assessment of why she continues to fight. Her loss is a scar. She is no Pollyanna. She’s delved the darkness, and still seeks the light.

And, well, perhaps it’s just that she reminds me of one of my characters. And although I say I’m cheesy and proud, I can see how drawn I am to tragic characters, especially when they remain earnest in spite of it. I can see how honesty makes all the difference in such portrayals.

And WOW. That poem slays me. I’ve read it three times now. This has been a fascinating discussion today, and I greatly appreciate your insightful addition. You got me thinking – and feeling! – as well. Thank you!

Wonderful quote, David. If anyone could be forgiven for going blind to hope, it would be Akhmatova. Here, she doesn’t, but her last book was titled Hope Abandoned. As for cynics and sentimentalists, you couldn’t be more right than to describe them as the two sides of a coin. The sentimentalists will themselves into blindness of what you’ve written about eloquently as the tragic vision of life. As for cynics, scratch the surface, and you find hope, too dangerous to be allowed out to see the light of day. The ultimate, true cynics are those so self-absorbed that nothing but self ever registers.

Yes! All of what you say here! I’m drawn to sincerity and hope in my fiction – both that which I read/watch and that which I write. If there was a word that would capture my work, it would be earnest. Can that slide into melodrama? Sure, but I’d rather err on the side of sincerity and emotional honesty than the relentless darkness and cynicism that seems to be in vogue.

I’m coming late to the comments, but I just wanted to thank you for this beautifully written–and sincere–post. I’m with you in regard to seeking sincerity in my own writing, and I usually cannot read books that don’t illuminate hope and goodness in some fashion. I mean, why bother with a story unless you witness some amendment, some transcendence, or at least some fragile self-awareness? It is always the blend of darkness and light that draws me in and makes me care about a character.

It seems to me that all of us these days carry the burden of fear for the future of humanity. Cynicism cannot help us.

Hi SK – You know, I’ve just recently started to abandon books that seem to be utterly devoid of hope or goodness. I’m with you – why bother? And perhaps I’ve given up to early to see the transcendence to come. As I say, I’m very okay with darkness. But I need hints of light. And there’s ample cynicism available just in the news. You’re right – it’s the blend that makes us care. Great observations. Thanks so much for adding them to the conversation!

Vaughn, thank you for thist post. I wasn’t going to see WW because usually the stereotyped, less-than-believable portrayal of action heroines in popular media annoys me to no end. Your post, however, makes me wonder (no pun intended) whether this movie might be different. I’ll go find out.

Most of my favorite characters aren’t exactly driven by altruism and the “greater good”. I like them flawed and broken and egotistical, but ultimately I want them to abide by a code of ethics, whether a universal one or one of their own making. Merriam-Webster defines sincerity as the “quality or state of being sincere; honesty of mind; freedom from hypocrisy”. A cynical character, even a villain, can be sincere by that definition. Hm. I guess I like my stories dark and gritty and, yes, cynical… but never hopeless.

Hope is what turns a character into a hero: The firm belief that things can change for the better and that (s)he’s the one who can bring about that change. And if it saves the world – well, who am I to quibble? ;-)

Hi LK – Thanks for chiming in with these insights. I think you’re right – there can be a case made for even a sincere antagonist. In fact, I’m thinking that the best villains are sincere – they believe they’re the hero. And I think you imply a distinction I should’ve made – that a cynical character is distinct from a cynical story. Detachment can get old, but I think that often a character’s cynicism is self-deception – a form of self-protection. I suppose the difference is in their actions. Indeed, cynical characters can – and should – occasionally populate sincere stories. As long as there’s some light coming through.

I think the thing I like best about your thoughtful comment is the important element of the transformation/change of the character in any successful story. It’s essential, and therefor needed to achieve any sort of successfully sincere story. And may I just say, as someone who’s familiar with your work, and one particular character that may skew toward cynicism, I can see the transformation, and the sincerity in your storytelling. In other words, there’s abundant light showing through.

Thanks for this post, Vaughn. I was trying to figure out why I enjoyed WW so much (superhero movies are usually a big no for me). I think it’s a combination of the sincerity and the very real moment of despair Diana experiences. Part of the reason the Chris Pine character has to sacrifice himself in the end is because she refuses to help him at a key moment. And I think she’ll always carry that with her.

Hi Shizuka, I’ve been sort of mentally tallying up all of the folks who say they normally don’t enjoy, or even go, to superhero movies. I’m sure it’s part of WW’s success. Hopefully it’ll spur Hollywood on down this path. Yes, Steve’s sacrifice is key to this character, and to the sincerity of the story. And that scar Diana bears will hopefully inform her writers and directors moving forward. Because, of course, there’s at least a bit more of Diana on the horizon. Thanks for the great addition!

Soooooo glad to see another man write about his appreciation for this movie. I also really liked WW’s sincerity. Yes, it’s innocent at the beginning, and the other characters think so, too, and it’s riffed on a bit. Fine. But what was really cool was that after she had seen the horrors and soul deflations of war, her sincere desire to right the world was still strong–and it wasn’t innocent anymore! It became fully sincere; so much so that the guys followed her into war. They wanted her to lead them, and she did–without knowing she was, and without trying to prove a gender or political message. The filmmakers were surely trying to prove that gender and political message (as well they should), but WW was not. She was just sincerely herself. Not a fish without a bicycle, per se, but aware that love for a man was a choice, not a mandate. Wonderful movie with a sincere message. Not a chick flick at all, but–Dare I say?–an important action movie, with a moving, rousing message that doesn’t clobber you.

Great point, Steven, about innocence blooming into full sincerity. And, yes, whether the filmmakers sought to deliver a message is beside the point of the truth in Diana’s sincerity – which is the only thing that could’ve made any intended message an effective one.

I’m not at all into superheroes but I’ve often joked I’m Wonder Woman so I decided to see it. I loved it. It was refreshing. And it stayed on my mind for days. Still does. I’m going to see it again. I want to write stories that do that, too.

No matter how sad my books or dysfunctional family or whatever, there is always hope, hope, hope! I hate reading a book (or watching a movie) that has no hope, that is all darkness and cynicism and angst – I have enough of that in my head (laugh!).

Great post, as usual, Vaughn! And I want to see WW so much and haven’t yet done so! Now I want to see it even more.

Yes, the hope bleeds right through in your stories – that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You are a great example. I really don’t mind darkness. In fact, I think we need to endure some darkness. At some point just gimme some light. Or at least some striving for it. Thanks, Kat!

Yes, you should go to WW. I wish we lived closer. I want to go again. Have a great weekend!